Quotes about about punctuation

Canto the Thirteenth

II now mean to be serious; -- it is time, Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.A jest at Vice by Virtue's call'd a crime, And critically held as deleterious:Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime, Although when long a little apt to weary us;And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn,As an old temple dwindled to a column.

IIThe Lady Adeline Amundeville ('T is an old Norman name, and to be foundIn pedigrees, by those who wander still Along the last fields of that Gothic ground)Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will, And beauteous, even where beauties most abound,In Britain -- which of course true patriots findThe goodliest soil of body and of mind.

I like all things grammatical, and I had already written several books about parts of speech, and even the alphabet, so everything that makes up a sentence and even a word was covered except for punctuation.

Don Juan: Canto The Thirteenth

I now mean to be serious;--it is time, Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious. A jest at Vice by Virtue's call'd a crime, And critically held as deleterious: Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime, Although when long a little apt to weary us; And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn, As an old temple dwindled to a column.

The Lady Adeline Amundeville ('Tis an old Norman name, and to be found In pedigrees, by those who wander still Along the last fields of that Gothic ground) Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will, And beauteous, even where beauties most abound, In Britain - which of course true patriots find The goodliest soil of body and of mind.

I'll not gainsay them; it is not my cue; I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the best:

Bomb In C Minor

There's a minefield set inside my headAny little push and I think we're all dead The barrel is loaded through my twisted neurology Which social miasmas set in motion the trigger Leading tainted endearments that lead me to linger A hyacinth aborted, in the killing fields bloomedcaution were you tread, or this roman candle will yield

There's a bomb playing c minor, it's my schizoid sonataCracked coronets pick away my head with an axeThe violins scratch impressions on mahogany lines While the Spanish guitar paints me to a far away time And nobody hears the pressure point crescendo to the drums as the bomb goes off for session number 1

Everyday is navigated combating a barbed wire planet For eyes and subtle sneers, firing the shot penetrating fearWounds fragrant the body and make a casualty wornWithout notice to recoil the shrapnel lodges your thoughtsAnd every scar to the insults engineers a damaged mind

Dear Will Shakespeare

Dear Will,

How are things out there? just thought you'd like to know, that you're eleventh on the Top Poets listas of today (though I should mentionthat the hittership is 75% fromthe New World that you just foresawbefore you 'closed your book'; not that that's relevant - they speak anEnglish, isn't that great, which is nearerto your own sound than the strangledglottal stops of Cheapside Thames-side these sorry days) ...

So to the list: and so you'll understandthat no offence is meant, etcetera...top dog today is Sheldon Silverstein -the sort of oddball who lives down the streetjust where the sidewalk ends, whom your children hang around with all the time -